


What if Dean became gluten intolerant

by Zummar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disease, Gen, Light Angst, Supportive Sam, celiac disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zummar/pseuds/Zummar
Summary: Little red blisters are itching on Dean's upper arms, when Sam sees he makes his brother go stop the doctor. What is wrong with him?





	What if Dean became gluten intolerant

Somewhere just after his thirty-seventh birthday was when he first noticed them, clusters of small, itching blisters on his upper arms. Sure, he had seen the skin change over time, become red and dry, but always written it off to ageing or just using different soap, but this was new. The itching was sometimes bad but smearing it with bodylotion helped, slightly. He never told Sam about it, simply because it didn’t really seem that important.

  
They had been in the gym when Sam got a concerned frown between his eyes. “Dean, what’s that?” He pointed at his brothers upper arms that were covered with clusters of small red knots.

“Uhm, I don’t know, it’s nothing.” Dean shrugged and picked up a towel to wipe the sweat off his face.

“Dean,” a challenging undertone in his voice, “I’ve been watching you itch and scratch your arms for days now, maybe it’s time you see a doctor?”

“Nah, it’ll start healing by itself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s eyebrows shoot high in disbelief. “Exactly how long have you had it?”

“Uhm, I think I started noticing it at the end of January…” Dean admitted sheepishly.

“January? Dean…It’s May.” Sam’s jaw clenched. “During all this time, did it ever become better?” Shifting his weight between his feet, apparently annoyed.

Dean stared thoughtfully out over the room. “Uhm, no...You’re right, it has only become worse..” He sighed. “You really think I need to see a doctor?”

“Yes!”

  
The following morning Dean went to the doctor and was subjected to quite a battery of tests. The results would be back in about a week, Dean was told by Dr. A. Mills, a man in his mid 50s with grey hair and a trustworthy way of explaining things to Dean.

Exactly seven days after his doctor's appointment his phone rang, private number. He swiped over the phone to answer. “Dean.”

“Hi, this is Dr. Mills office, we have booked an appointment for you tomorrow morning at 8.15,” a very business like voice of a woman carried through the phone speaker.

“Oh, an appointment? I thought you’d just send me a letter...”

“Sir, we always make appointments to talk about test results, no need to worry.” Dean wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, there was a nervous knot in his stomach. He told the assistant he’d be in the next morning and hung up.

  
8 o’clock sharp, he found himself in the waiting room, his brother by his side. Sam had insisted on following when he saw the tension fleeting across Dean’s face as he told him what the call had been about.

“Don’t worry Dean, I'm sure everything’s fine,” he reassured.

“I'm not worried.” he grunted, running his, slightly sweaty palms up and down his jeans.

Dr. Mills called them into his office, a desk with a computer, a window with fake ivy winding over the sill. It smelled like antiseptics and Sam and Dean sat down in the two chairs opposite the doctor. He looked at the computer screen, pushed his glasses further up his nose and said, “So Dean, we have your results back, and I felt it was important for us to talk about it eye-to-eye.”

Dean swallowed hard. So this was how he was going to die? He’d been to Hell, Purgatory, fought demons and witches, he’d been shot, beaten, hell, he’d been a demon, and now it was over? Some petty disease was gonna kill him.

“Dean?” Sam and Dr. Mills were looking at him. “Dean, did you hear what I said?”

He met the doctor’s gaze with a confused look.   
“I-- Uhm.” He cleared his throat “I’m sorry doctor, I didn’t…”

Dr. Mills smiled reassuringly. “It’s ok,” he paused “the test results show that you have something called Dermatitis Herpetiformis--” he was interrupted by the horrified look on Dean’s face.

“Well...that sounds awful!” Dean stroked a hand over his face and looked from his brother to the doctor.

Dr. Mills smiled again. “No, Dean, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Dermatitis Herpetiformis simply means that there is an inflammation in your skin with blisters that itch. Now DH itself is usually a symptom of celiac disease-”

“Celiac disease?” Dean gave the doctor a blank stare. “What’s that?” A concerned frown appeared on his face.

“Well, you’re allergic to gluten.”

“Gluten, wha-- like, uhm what?”

“It’s mainly found in wheat, so pasta and bread and similar foods are what you have to avoid.”

Dean stared at the doctor. “Wheat? So like, flour?”

“Yes, exactly, here.” He handed Dean a pamphlet with ’Celiac Disease’ written above a picture of a way too happy woman with a colgate smile. “This will explain most of it. You will have to see a dietician that can help you with the proper diet, but otherwise this is fairly manageable.”

  
He felt numb all the way out to the car. Sam took the pamphlet from him and read it while Dean was driving.

“We should probably stop by a grocery store,” he said when he was finished reading.

“Yeah, good. I’m hungry, let’s buy some burgers and pie,”

“Ehum, Dean.” Sam gave his brother a sympathetic look.

“What? A man’s gotta eat.”

“Dean, you can’t eat wheat anymore. That means things like, you know, pie crusts, pasta, and burger buns for example.”

“What? No pie? No burgers? What am I going to eat then? Salad?”

“You can still eat most meats and vegetables. There are also gluten free alternatives out there...they’re just a little harder to find. We’ll get through this.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, it was going to be a long and bumpy, pie-less, road though...

 


End file.
